The Twisted Tales Of Two Strangers
by Cella N
Summary: She’s the brightest light in Hueco Mundo. He’d rather be blind to her the rest of his life. ORIHIME. ULQUIORRA. A tale of love, and the unlucky bastards that try to ignore it.
1. arc 1: i food and etiquette

**A/N:** Yes. I'm insane. A month away from the worst examination of my life, I start writing an epic fic. With these two, no less. Watch Cella throw herself over the edge of a cliff, screaming yip-yip-whee as she goes.  
Anyway. This will be written in arcs—oooohhh, arcs!—with the first arc: **when in Rome**. I'm sure you all know where that comes from. Another thing you should know: the story is set before the Shinigami Shonen Retards Squad comes to the rescue, which makes it a slight AU. Don't worry, it's not like I'll leave Orihime in Hueco Mundo for forever.  
Err…right. Anyway! I'll probably post this on too, for format's sake. Or…because I'm a huge review-whore. Got the hint? Anyone? On with it!

**when in Rome**  
_i. food/etiquette_

The night is young.

Las Noches glares a startling white, solitary and imposing in the vast desert that is Hueco Mundo. It's a palace for the gods, or a palace for those which plan to become gods, in any case. It's also a home to several lost souls who're under the false impression that they matter to their powerful 'father', even if it's just a bit. It's a home to the Espada, some powerful, some smug, some childish, some fierce, and some…extremely bored.

Ulqiuorra doesn't have much care for dreams, or sleep. He doesn't care for showing kindness, or being brotherly to someone. And he couldn't give a damn about what the human woman is telling him.

Something, something, blah, blah, more incessant chatter—why won't she _sleep, already_?—a smidge of a giggle—is that a tear he sees in her eyes?—and more talking. There's a plate, full of food, on her bed just in front of her. Ulquiorra rolls his eyes to the ceiling, and raises a hand to interrupt her blabber.

"Are you going to say something useful hearing, or is this your idea of distracting me from forcing you to eat, woman?" he asks.

Orihime blinks, glances at the food—she probably yearns for its taste already—and then at him: "Maybe?" she answers, to which of his questions he can't know, but neither does he care.

He'd like to sigh for once, let out one of those whooshing bouts of air leave his lungs—if he has lungs, that is—in one long sigh of irritation or relief. Of course, he can't afford it. Anything done or said in this chamber will be reported to Aizen-sama, which means he has to be careful.

Actually, no.

It just means he has to not show emotion. What was that thing Aizen-sama had warned him about when he'd assigned him the human? Don't get attached.

Pffft!

As if he would. Sparing the woman-girl a glance of disgust, Ulquiorra firmly decides that there is no way he'll ever get attached to something as frail, stupid and weak as the person in front of him.

_If I'd been in Aizen-sama's place, she'd have died long ago._

It is the girl's luck that he isn't the one giving the ultimate orders around the place, else wise she'd have been thrown over the wall of Las Noches…five days ago. _And she'd probably do a little yip-yip-whee noise before landing, too,_ he realises with irritation.

"Maybe if I could cook my own food," she tries, back to filling the silence.

"No." Ulquiorra rather likes the silence. Maybe if he could tie her at the mouth for a while…Aizen-sama would probably look at him with disapproval, amused nonetheless. Ulquiorra doesn't like amusing Aizen-sama. The weak Espada amuse their father, and then they find themselves with a missing arm, or a missing stomach, or something of the sort. No. Ulquiorra likes himself intact, and therefore he tries to make his father proud, rather than amused. "Eat what you've been given, woman," he orders.

The girl's expression change from hope to disappointment, and then to a scowl. "Orihime."

"What?"

"My name. It's Orihime. Not woman. I'm still a girl, you know..."

Well. Of course he knows. It's not like he judges her by the size of her chest, like Noitora does. And, bah. Stupid name for a stupid girl. "So?" he drones out.

"I thought," she starts tentatively—ah, she thought, that…is bad, Ulquiorra thinks—glancing at him with shyness. "Since you're my, err…guard, we should at least…call each other…by…name?" she finishes, sheepish.

Ulquiorra's silent stare makes her look away. There's a pause.

_I'll regret this._

He sighs slightly. "Would it make you eat?"

She looks back at him, surprised he talked, probably. "What?"

"If I call you by your name, would you be less of a bother and eat?" he asks. Courtesy is lost on those who don't deserve it. (Even if Aizen-sama said to treat her well.)

"Um…" There's a pause, and she doesn't talk. Ulquiorra thanks the higher beings for this breakthrough, and hopes for it to last. It doesn't. "Maybe."

"Maybe is not an optional answer," he says.

"Okay. Fine, if you call me by my name, I'll probably feel less treated like a prisoner, which I know I am, and trust you well enough to actually eat what's on that pl—"

"Yes or no, _woman_?" For gods' sake, did she have to make all her answers this _long_?

"Yes."

"Good. Then, eat your food, Orihime." He doesn't think, for one instant, that the lack of courtesy after her name makes it all sound very…intimate.

She does, it seems, judging by her blush. Nonetheless, she eats the food. Ulquiorra gives himself a mental clap.

Maybe he'll last a few more days without killing her. 


	2. arc 1: ii play on words

**A/N:** Mild spoiler to chapter 271, mainly Ulquiorra's Espada number. It's his musings' fault, anyway. And…I still say he's numero uno in my list. Ah, yes…dialogue. Well, you didn't expect them to go all OMGSOINLOVE in two chapters, did you? (I did. They won't do it. The bastards!) So, yes…Ulquiorra still pretty much is irritated at her. But…err…that'll change. Probably. I hope. Oh, and, another quick note: just because this little lovely is AU, doesn't mean some spoilers from the manga won't slip in. Fufufufu, I'm evil. Evil, I say…  
Does anyone read these notes? Ever?  
I assure you I'm not always this…high on crack. But…if I don't act crazy, I'll go mad under school stress. Yes. Yes I will. Therefore I compensate with conversations about holes, and Pokemon and superpowers. Because...Orihime is still Orihime, even if she's a captive. Now go read! 

**when in Rome**  
_ii. play on words_

o1.

"Say, Guard-san…"

"Hn."

"Can I call you by your name too? Since you call me by mine, and all…"

Ulquiorra opens his eyes, the pupils narrowed fractionally in annoyance. He's decided. There is no way on earth to stop this…this _being_ from talking. Because it's quite obvious she isn't human. No human talks this much. No human talks this much to her captor. And…no human is as stupid, idiotic and retarded as this thing in front of him. Because she's doing the impossible, the improbable, and the unpardonable attempt of _friending_ him. Which proves how stupid she is.

"Would it help your situation any?"

She blinks at his question, and for a moment, he considers blinking himself. What the hell is up with that? What situation? Was that…was he actually thinking of giving in? Ulquiorra closed his eyes as he waited for her answer, certain that Aizen-sama would laugh at him. Laughing and Aizen-sama did not equal happy endings. Ever. At least in his knowledge, anyway.

"Well," she begins—_here we go with the long explanation_, Ulquiorra thinks—, "I-I guess it wouldn't. Not much. Since there's the whole me being a prisoner thing, and all, but!—don't you think it'd ease the air around us? I mean, you're my guard, I guess, or…something. And I really think Guard-san is an ugly name. I know A-Aizen-san calls you Ulqui…err—something…"

"Ulqui_orra_," he answers, strained. Really! It's not _that_ hard to remember his fucking name! Right? Surely, it's the most…creative one, in Aizen's batch of Espada, if any. Actually, scratch that. There's no way his name could compete with Wonder-whatever-his-name-is. Pfft. Stupid names.

"It's an interesting name," she quips. Obviously, she's taken his correction as an affirmative answer. Obviously, he isn't going to correct her—that only makes her talk more, and just…no. No more.

o2.

Blah, blah, blah, gods this girl never stopped. His favourite pass-time now was thinking of ways to make her shut the hell up. So far he'd come up with a few:

1.Kill her. (Aizen-sama would kill me for this, though. Damn.)  
2. Cut her tongue out. (Aizen-sama would kill me for this too, since she needs to talk. And she could probably heal her tongue up again, anyway. Damn.)  
3.Gag her. (The protests would probably be heard anyway, and I despise incoherent chatter even more.)  
4.Throw her over the wall. (Window's too small. Damn.)  
5._Fantasize_ about all the above, in no decided order. (This works well enough.)

"Ulquiorra-san, do you believe in reincarnation? Because when I was in Hueco Mundo, they told me I looked like this person's wife, who'd died, which is sad, you know, but come to think of it, you remind me of someone I knew long ago, maybe a puppy or a little ca—"

"Stop. Quiet. Just…shut up." Really, he doesn't usually snap. Actually, he never snaps, or loses control. Aizen-sama takes great pride in the fact that he is like a statue at times. But…really, him? A puppy? Is she fucking insane?

"Don't you like puppies, then?"

Yes. Yes, she is fucking insane.

And about to drag him down the same road.

"Orihime," he grits out, calmly. "New rules. Unless you have something deep and intelligent to talk about, then do yourself an outstanding favour and don't. Say. A word."

There's silence. Oh, blissful silence. Silence that is good. Yes, he can work better like this. Now, maybe he doesn't need to fantasize again.

"Um…"

Or maybe he does.

"Could you make a list, then?"

"……a what?"

"A list. Of the subjects that you consider interesting and deep and intelligent. You know, so I don't disappoint…and all."

"No."

"Ah."

Well. Great. She's quiet. Okay, so…there are…tears in her eyes, but…at the same time, silence. Which is gradually being eaten by her sobs. He blinks monotonously for a minute, then with an inward sigh, asks: "Why is it so important for you to talk?"

"B-b-be—" she starts, rubbing her eyes with a dirtied sleeve. "Because…if I stay quiet, I t-think of…all the people I l-left a-and…I'd j-just cryyyy," she answers, her last word a cry on itself.

Just. Great.

He takes a minute to think this over. Talking, he can ignore. Crying is more irritating still. And besides, she's marring her clothes even more. Bah.

"Fine."

"Eh…?"

"I said, fine. You can talk."

o3.

"Did getting your hole there hurt?"

"No."

"Does it ever get uncomfortable?"

"I stopped noticing it."

"Does it come with super powers? Like sting-ray? Or water-splash?"

"….what?!"

"Sorry, I may have been thinking of Pokemon a lot lately…"

"…"

"You're right, you really don't want to know. So, what does it _do_?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"How astute."

"Show me, Ulquiorra-san? Please?"

"It sucks the reiatsu and souls of humans. Do you really want me to show you?"

"…….that's a creepy super-power to have."

"…"

"Hey, my powers are really good, don't give me that look!"

"…"

"Fine, go back to closing your eyes. I'll just escape this room while you're an awful babysitter."

"…"

"…th-that hurts…hurts…"

"I am not your babysitter, woman. And if you put a toe out this room without permission, I will kill you. With my super-power."

"…m-monster…"

"How astute."

o4.

"Ulquiorra-san…"

"Hn."

"I didn't mean to…"

"Hm."

"Y-you're not a monster…"

"Hn."

"…just. Sorry."

o5.

"And then nii-chan took me away, and I never saw them again. I live alone, so no-one really will miss me if I ever die…but when nii-chan was alive…that had been really…you know, Ulquiorra-san, you're a bit like him…"(1)

"Doubt that."

"No, no, really! Sometimes, but…I think it's maybe myself wishing he were reincarnated. Of course…I don't think I'd want him to be reincarnated in an Espada. Nii-san deserves a peaceful second life, you know? But I wonder at times…"

"I am not your brother."

"I know that. You're…complicated."

"…"

"It's because all the Espada look like someone from Soul Society, in a way…but I can't find out who you look like…"

"No-one." Which is true. He's the first specimen, the fourth in number. _Shi_, death. Death is not to look familiar. Aizen-sama knows this much.(2)

"…I know. But that's good. You look like yourself. That's good enough."

"Hm."

* * *

**(1)**: Now that I think about this, wouldn't it be cool? In a seriously twisted, twisted way? Note it down people. If it happens, YOU READ IT HERE FIRST!!!  
**(2)**: No. Really. Notice how almost all Espada have this...feeling of familiarity? Like Grimmy. He looks like Renji and Ichigo's lovechild. And let's not talk about the Kaien-wannabe...But Ulquiorra doesn't. Being number 4, representing death and all...I think Aizen was a bit superstitious in making him look like anyone. But, that might be just me. I could write an essay on this...or...not. 


	3. arc 1: iii bells at a funeral

**A/N:** Everyone is allowed to ask me where the HELL this chapter came from. But I can't guarantee an answer. I have the outline of this fic settled in my mind, but sometimes, Plot and Muse get together for tea, and they shove these little bits at me. Really. I have nothing to say, except that Ulquiorra's snark is still there, but things are getting a bit more…serious. Excluding this chapter, which isn't that serious. I think.  
But really, I guess all my chapters have a bit of humour in them. Right? I can't figure out why, right now…Maybe a bit OOC, but not really. And before any of you make the assumption that he is IN LURVE with her already, I have FOUR words for you: YOU'RE ALL WRONG. SUCKERS! (Now, can someone please convince Ulquiorra not to kill me in my sleep? Please?)

**when in Rome**  
_iii. like the sound of bells at a funeral_

It's not that he hates her. Really.

He doesn't want her to die. Really.

He doesn't want her to shut up, either. Really.

Maybe. Maybe he's become a better liar, because of her. He knows it's true. For some reason, whatever events come to happen while he's guarding her, he keeps a secret. For some reason, him, the Fourth, el Cuarto, death, the lackey, the ripper and the eye that sees it all…doesn't show all. He's lying to Aizen-sama, which he has no doubt, the master knows. It's not a big lie, really. Probably why his head isn't separated from his body—that and he really is more useful than the rest. They're tiny omissions: how she asked him to call her by his name, her curious blush, the way she apologized for calling him a monster. Small details that he doesn't really want to share with Aizen-sama, for no reason than to feel like he owns something.

They're not his thoughts. They're not his desires. They're something weird, and strange, that he doesn't need, or want, or have any use for. Why is he keeping those details a secret? Why does he erase them from his memory, before splintering his eye in front of his master? Maybe her stupidity is contagious. Probably.

She's making him lie. And she's making him lie to Aizen-sama. Which is, probably, why he feels disgusted. Not at her, but at himself.

And he's changed his mind again.

He does hate her. Really.

"I'm bored," she declares, poking at her food one day, and looking up at her small window.

"Good." He doesn't care.

"There's nothing to do here. Aizen-san knows I won't leave…so why can't I at least exit the chambers, for a li—"

"No." He doesn't _care_.

She sighs, scratching the skin right under her eye. (If that were his skin, it would pull, twist, and the eye would come out and show stories.) "It's been a week and a half since I last laughed."

He _doesn't care_.

She looks at him with interest, like he's a new toy—and it makes him uneasy, it makes him want to cover her eyes, or slap her silly, because:

She's still the prisoner here. And he doesn't care for her needs. She's fed, he watches over her. It's all he's told to do. End.

"Do you ever smile?" she asks, her voice scratching over the silence of the room. Chalk. Her voice is like chalk on a blackboard. Irritating. So irritating.

"No."

"Could you?" she asks, tapping her chopsticks against her lips.

He doesn't answer. Because…she has a point. It's weird, really, that she actually has a point. But he reflects on her question, and finds himself at blanc. Can he smile? He knows some Espada smile—not happy smiles, of course, but they're smiles nonetheless—so it shouldn't be impossible for him to—"No." He can't smile. It's not that he won't. He just can't. Probably never. It's what he symbolizes, for the Espada, for Aizen-sama. He's the statue, the one that imparts death without expression, without discrimination, and without second thought.

"That's sad," she says. He's not inclined to agree.

"The need to smile is superfluous. It's based on biochemical reactions that the human body creates. I neither experience, nor do I want to experience them."

There is silence. He closes his eyes in a silent thanks to whoever for this silence. But as usual, she manages to break it, somehow.

By poking him in the side. He opens his eyes and looks down at her.

"………what are you doing?"

"Trying to see if you're right," she answers simply, fluttering her fingers against his side. And up, her face concentrated, and down, her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. And poking his sides, doing something weird with her fingers that—

He doesn't understand. "What are you _doing_?"

"Tickling you. Or…at least, I'm trying to do that…"

This time, a long, suffered sigh escaped his lips—and dies half way there. He hisses, and swats her hands, his eyes wide. "Stop that!"

She blinks up at him. There's a pause. Her mouth widens in a stupid, silly grin—

And he just _knows_ this will be another one of those things he'll hide from Aizen-sama, even before it happens, because—

"Ulquiorra-san is _ticklish_!" she quips. The laughter follows. It follows and it flows out of her mouth as if it were a Cero. And then it's sucking him in.

The little idiot woman-child is laughing at him, as he stands, surprised, at her discovery—because he didn't know that himself—and more surprised at the sounds of her laughter. Like bubbles, or chimes, or something as equally loud and lively and impulsive. It draws him in. For a moment, he wants to hear more.

But the moment is over.

He stands up, and leaves the room in a composed hurry, slamming the door behind him. Leaning against the door, he decides, as he pulls his eye out, and smashes it against the wall—he will never show this to Aizen-sama, and the sole notion on this makes him feel ashamed—with force, that yes. Yes.

He really hates the girl.


	4. arc 1: iv quiet in the trashcans

**A/N:** Hello again! Remember when I said this was AU? Before the squad comes to the rescue? Well, think that the Squad is getting advice from more intelligent people about their strength, or lack thereof when facing Espada. Think that they're getting special training, again. Think that this is why Orihime still is in Hueco Mundo, why Ulquiorra leaves from time to time, and why things are allowed to go slower and develop. I just love the power of author's license. I do.  
A more serious chapter, because I can totally do those, stfu. Apparently Ulquiorra agrees to getting attached a bit more quicker. Though as he puts it, it's not attachment. It's just constancy. Orihime has no complains. Do you?! 

**when in Rome**  
_iv. quiet in the trash cans_

Some time later, he's finally free of her, for a few days.

Ulquiorra has more duties than babysitting stupid over-grown babies, and Aizen-sama knows it. Scouting missions send him to the living world, where people sleep unsuspecting of how things will change. There, he observes, records, takes note, and the rest.

It's quiet.

He lurks in the shadows, watches people that are familiar. Old battle rivals. Enemies. He sees the boy, Ichigo. Trash. Trash, trash, trash. His hands itch to kill him. His mouth itches to ask him why, if he's so high and mighty, he hasn't come for his little friend yet? Is this his way of torturing the enemies? Letting the loudest of the group be kidnapped? Because it's working. For Ulquiorra, at least.

So, apparently she's a traitor.

Ulquiorra has a feeling the girl would cry tiny rivers into her pillow if she knew that her kin considers her a traitor—when it's obvious she saved them from death by his own sword. If she doesn't know it yet.

"Hm," he says to himself, and pushes off and away from the lamp-post, floating in the air and looking blankly at the ground.

It's quiet.

It's been two days since he last had to endure her stupid blabber. And strangely enough, instead of breathing relieved that she's gone, he finds himself thinking of her. Her friends are planning a rescue. Weaklings. They're still weak, and they know it, for a rescue mission in Hueco Mundo.

It'd be like going to a certain death.

It's interesting. He doesn't care for the trash. But the girl isn't trash. Aizen-sama declared her not trash, and he knew, from the second he saw that shield, that she wasn't trash. So maybe, that is why, when the moment comes, instead of letting her see how he kills her friends, he will cover her eyes. When the moment comes, instead of dragging their death, he'll make it quick. Not for them, but for her. He doesn't understand why.

Because she's not trash. Yes. That's why.

He has to stop thinking of her.

The mouth to Hueco Mundo opens just enough to let him in. He goes to Aizen-sama, delivers all his mission by pulling his eye out.

"You must be tired," his master says. "Why don't you retire to rest, Ulquiorra-kun? You can return to your routine tomorrow."

"Yes, Aizen-sama," he says, and turns around to swiftly leave the room. The hallways are quiet. The castle is quiet. Everything is _too damn quiet_. His steps lead him to her door.

He pauses there, for a moment.

There is no reason to step inside. He has no reason to check up on her. She's not in his duty, not tonight. _Not attachment. Just want to make sure she's still alive._

He raises his hand to open the door—

But it's opened before he can finish the movement, and he finds himself face to chest with Noitorra. In an act of showing more emotion than he usually does, Ulquiorra's eyebrow raises slightly as he establishes eye contact.

"You're back, I see," Noitorra says, smiles, grins, makes him want to punch that face in.

"How astute of you to point out the obvious."

"Came to check up on your pet?" he sneers, insinuates, makes Ulquiorra want to gut him like Grimmjaw gutted Luppi.

"Hm. What were you doing here, then?" he asks, but the tone, though calm, is menacing.

"Oh, you know…checking up on her," the other man answers, and leaves before danger comes, tittering as he goes.

Ulquiorra faces the open door, catching a glimpse of Orihime's form, under the window. "I'm coming in," he announces, feeling the need to let her _know_ who it is that's visiting her.

She twirls around, all hair and clothes, her eyes widening when she sees him. For a moment she doesn't speak, and he worries. Then a smile from her mouth: "You're back!" And then, the smile fades into worry: "What happened to your _eye_?"

And before he can answer, she's in front of him, her palm stretched in front of his face, touching but not touching. The air trembles from her movements, and he raises his hand to grasp her wrist, softly—and why is he doing it so softly? Why is the need to break her less tangent than before? "Nothing to worry about," he answers, and pushes her hand down before she can touch it. "It will heal."

"Do you want me to heal it for y—"

"There is no need." He doesn't want to owe her _anything_. Ever.

"Are you s—"

"Yes." Final. Terminally sure. End. "What was Noitorra doing here?"

Orihime blinks at the change of subject, and avoids his gaze, uncomfortably. "He was left in charge, when you were away."

"Did he bother you in any way?" Why is he asking her that?! He doesn't care! He. Does. Not. Care!

"N-no. Just," she hesitates, and rubs her neck, then looks at him shyly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hn."

"Will you…do you think you could…" Taking a deep breath, she tries again, "Please don't leave me again."

Ulquiorra's eyes widen. Her own eyes widen. There's a pause.

And: "I…didn't mean for it to sound like that…"

_I hope not._

"Ulquiorra-san's presence here is much, much better than…anyone else's."

"Why?" Seems like a good question.

"Because…Ulquiorra-san is Ulquiorra-san."

"You fear me," he says, and knows it's true, because it _is_ true.

"Yes," she answers, because that is also true. "But at the same time, I'm more comfortable near you, than any of the others. Is that…bad?"

He regards her for a moment, then turns around to leave. Looking over his shoulder, his damaged eye towards her, he says: "You're still the prisoner here. Don't get attached."

And neither will he. No attachment. Ever. No way.

The following day, when he takes care of her, it's back to routine, only this time, her talk doesn't bother her. After days of silence, it's almost, almost welcomed. There is no attachment involved, he decides. It's just a matter of constancy. They've both gotten used to each other too much. Which might pose a problem.

However, he never tells Aizen-sama to remove him from the job, or complain about the constancy.


	5. arc 1: v do like the romans

**A/N:** Thusly ends Arc 1 of this story. Yes, you heard me well. So, Ulquiorra's not as adverse to friendship as I expected he would be. Might be because he wants to secretly fondle her boobies. Mmm, boobies. Anyway, yes. Is this rushed? Maybe. Do I care? No. Actually, I don't think it's rushed. Arc 2 will be more rushed and more in stills, with no determinate timeline. You'll see.  
Things to comment on: does Noitorra get punished? Fufufu, well. As soon as Ulquiorra's possessive streak kicks in, yes. A lot, too. Love him. Love him while you still can. Why is Aizen not in this as much? He's irrelevant in this arc. This arc was about Orihime's adaptation to Hueco Mundo, seen through the eyes of Ulquiorra. But Aizen will probably exist more, futurely. Along with Kaienkar and many more. Yes, Arrankar party is GO!  
As for, if anyone is interested, my writing style: it's weird. It's a potpourri of Poe, Nabokov(Ulquiorra as Lolita??!), and dry humour, with serious inspiration from one fanfic author by the name of Sandra E(famous in InuYasha fandom, I think), and then some weird metaphors that I so love to use. But those are the inspirations and similitude. I like to think the writing style is all me. (If I ever manage to create a writing style that is all mine, I'll die happy.) I invite you all to pick at it and try to find similarities with others. Go ahead. (Note: my author notes have to be shorter. No-one reads them anyway.)

* * *

**when in Rome**  
_v. do like the Romans_

* * *

"Is there a moon in Hueco Mundo?" she asks one morning—or at least she thinks it's morning.

"Probably." He's not sure of it himself, he never pays attention to these small things. Maybe there is. Maybe not. To him time passes on account of 'mission, rest, mission, report, rest, obey'. As Arrankars, as Espadas, the need to eat or sleep is minimal. He can go on days without resting, though lately he's finding himself sleeping more and more. Perhaps it's his body, warning him of future fights.

Then again, perhaps it's her mouth and blabbering that tire him.

"I'm forgetting how the sky looks like," she says, then looks into her cup of tea.

Well. That's…a subtle way of getting the point across. Unfortunately for her, Ulquiorra ignores the hint, waving as it passes by. "The window is big enough."

Orihime rolls her eyes like one rolls through a field of posies—everything in quick, fluttering movements, as quick as a bird. And behold, her prim white cage. "Please? Not even for a little time? Just a walk…just a stretch of legs…"

"The outside is full of Hollows that are just waiting for a human soul upon which to feast," he says, closing the discussion.

Something in the way her eyes shine tell him she's just caught him in some sort of trap. "Well, not if you're with me…" she says in a very sing-song voice.

Ulquiorra, if he could, would chose this particular moment to sigh with irritation and disdain—_at the same time_, over the fact that he just _lost_. Well, almost.

"Please?"

He considers her for a moment.

Weights the options, the pros the cons. She's pale, distraught, her laughs aren't many enough, she's been awfully quiet these last days, she's getting thinner, looking like a woman in a cage, or maybe it was a bird, or maybe it already died. And the cons. Well.

He can't find any.

So with artful movement of his body, he raises and gives her a look, entailing that she should do the same. Ulquiorra might agree to let her go on a walk, but he will _not_ say it out loud. It would be something like giving her a free way to ask for everything. And he doesn't want to give her everything. Not today, nor any other day, night, morning or evening. Ever.

"Thank you, Ulquiorra-san," she says, once they're outside. She's carefully at his side, not wanting to tempt any of the Hollows to come bite her ankles or something of the sort. (They're not interesting ankles, anyway, Ulquiorra decides.)

But something doesn't fit. There's a misplaced piece in the puzzle. She should be giddy, and skipping in joy, and laughing. She isn't. she's walking, quiet, looking at the sky, the ground, the—"oh, so there _is_ a moon—, her shoes, his, her hands, his zanpakuto, the white walls of the castle they're walking alongside, the sky again. She sighs.

He, surprisingly, reluctantly, unwontedly _worries_.

"What's wrong?" he asks, so quiet that she probably thinks she's imagined it. He probably thinks the same.

"Nothing," she answers, fiddling with the sleeves of her white dress—oh, if her human friends were to see her now, caged-woman-child, walking with the death, wearing a traitor's clothes, shy and obedient and just _not right_.

"Orihime."

She looks up at him, like a deer in the spotlight—if Ulquiorra knew what deer looked like, that is—blinking and blushing a bit, just a bit at the edge of her collar. Hm.

It's a pretty colour.

_Focus._ "What's wrong?" he demands.

She pauses. She stops. Biting at her lower lip, she stares at the walls, at her prison. And then to the horizon, escape, impossible and close. Then to him, and with a resigned sigh, answers: "Everything."

"Start with the simple parts."

"I…don't like my room…"

"Hm. Why?"

"Because _he_ knows where it is."

Ulquiorra has a feeling he knows who this 'he' is. He has a feeling Noitorra will end up in a bloody pulp somewhere. Anywhere, really. Las Noches is big. And Ulquiorra is creative.

"And…I don't know…I'm homesick, I miss the sun, the fresh air, the…just…everything. I'd give a year of my life for a day in the sun, near a tree. Near anything, really. Near anything alive, you know?"

He understands her. Marginally, he does. In a way, he supposes, Orihime's treating him not only as her guard, but as some sort of confidant. A friend amongst enemies. Even if the only friend turns out to be the most dangerous of said enemies. It's just as well, he is starting to minimally like her.

No use denying it.

He doesn't feel like drowning in any proverbial river in Egypt.

If Inoue Orihime, the woman-child, the prisoner, the girl in a cage, is vulnerable to suffering a serious case of Stockholm Syndrome, then he, Ulquiorra, the Espada, the soulless statue, el Cuarto, the enemy, is probably going to suffer the same, only for the kidnapper. If there is such a syndrome.

It's this prospect what makes him grab her wrist, and open up a portal. It's this imminent fall what makes him not give a damn as he takes her into a green meadow, somewhere in a country named New Zeeland, far from her home, in the green, in the sun, so she can laugh. And she does. They stay there for a few hours, he informs her that no, he can't get a sunburn, while she laughs—like bells, like bubbles, like everything around her—and runs through the grass, and rolls on the floor, and looks at the sun, until it almost blinds her.

Then he returns them to the dark, but her face doesn't fall. She holds herself close to him, her hands brushing against his hakama every now and then. She looks up at him, and grin, and says thank you, and means it, and suddenly, Ulquiorra doesn't want to sleep anymore. He wants to be awake for the next smiles.

Unfortunately, later, after he's left her in her room, he exits and closes his eyes, because: Aizen-sama knows of this trip, unauthorized. He will want to talk to him. Now. So Ulquiorra concentrates, focuses on pushing all the important things, all those details that would get him stripped of his charge, potentially killed too, he puts them in the back of his head, away from his eye's memory. Those will be for later, for him.

And an hour later, he walks back to his room—fate has it that it's so close to hers—his eye, bleeding and gapping open, and missing. It stings, and burns, just like the wound near his stomach. The price of their little trip.

Orihime, apprarently, knows the sounds of his footsteps, because suddenly she's in the hallways, fretting over him, looking guilty as she pulls him into her room, opens his shirt, and heals the wound up. Her shield is warm. Warm and orange.

He almost falls asleep there.

"Would you like me to heal the eye?" she asks, afterwards.

He wants to say 'please'. He wants to say 'yes', because why should he suffer, when all he's done is give this broken doll a few moments of happiness? "No," he says instead, and she understands.

"I'm sorry," she says as she walks him to her door.

"Don't." He turns to watch her for a moment, in the doorway. "Goodnight."

"Wait," she says, and holds his wrists as she lifts herself up, and does the queerest little thing.

This is what Ulquiorra thinks, they call a kiss. Hm. He's seen girls doing this to boys in his missions to Earth, and wondered why the hell they got red when they did so. It's only a press of her lips, against the skin of his cheek. Right on the tear-mark that glares a striking emerald there.

And.

_Oh_.

So this is why they blushed. "Thank you," she whispers, lips brushing against his skin.

He pulls away, as if burned, but curious at the same time. "Goodnight, Orihime," he says, and leaves.

He can't decide if he wants more, or nothing else.


	6. arc2: i human feet

**A/N:** So begins the second arc of this lovely story. Lovely? Err. Whatever. It begins, and that's what matters. Let's skip the formalities and say I've already complained about how much life sucks, exams eat my brain and that's why I hadn't continued this earlier on, alright? As you lovely, smart readers will realize, this arc will be told from Orihime's point of view. Just when you thought you'd gotten a glimpse inside Ulquiorra's head, I'm going to make it even harder to know what he's thinking, by switching sides. I know, I'm so evil. But think of it the positive way. At least now you'll have a whole arc—five chapters!—of possibly kooky Orihime thoughts and so on.  
Just one thing before you go on. I leave you with a warning. You'll find out many loose ties have been left from the previous arc. That's simply due to the change of perspective. Of course Ulquiorra'll beat Noitorra down to a pulp. Just doesn't mean Orihime will know about it. And also, you might realize that the girl? Knows more than she lets on. As for the timeline, I'm going to have to keep on saying how this goes more slowly than the manga, and how it has started to be AU. Some events will happen—like, for example, Orihime's new uniform, which is bound to show up, shortly. Just not as fast-paced as in the manga.  
Onwards, you fiends! (And sorry for the long delay.)

* * *

**in need of a dictionary**  
_i. human feet_

* * *

Orihime can't remember how much time has passed since she's been a captive in Las Noches.

Sometimes, when it's really dark outside, she stares out her thin window, and wonders if time is measured there in nights, or in moon cycles, or if it's measured by how often this flower blooms, or this tree is green. But then again, there are no flowers in Hueco Mundo, and there are no trees that can be green. Everything is grey, and black, and white, and a bit more of grey. Briefly, each day before breakfast, she wonders if this is what the person that said 'life is measured in scales of grey' was thinking of. This monotone, monochromatic, simple, minimalist and very cold building, with people inside that aren't people, guests that aren't guests, and hosts that have plans of grandeur. There are bits of colour, splattered around Las Noches, this much she has noticed. The hair colour of some Espadas make up for the lack thereof, in the building. There's a lot of green, turquoise and pink around.

Although, what she likes best, is the emerald colour of those tear-marks, that run down his cheeks in a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. And his eyes, too, just as green, but harder, emptier, incomplete, and probably…never to be completed. Two days before, she'd wondered if those marks were make-up, or if they were permanent. If he was created with them, maybe. One day previous, she'd kissed him, as an expression of gratitude for taking her out to see more green. She'd let her lips delve upon that spot of skin just over his marks, for two seconds too long, and at the same time, not long enough; but she only found out that they were permanent, and that the skin on his cheeks tasted like ice, like cold water. Like the sort of cold water people lust after in the desert.

Hueco Mundo is a desert. But Orihime receives water every day.

In this moment, the deliverer water and food is looking at her with raised eyebrows—very slightly, though, since everything about him was slight, she's learned—probably wondering what she's said last.

"I asked, how is your eye doing, Ulquiorra?" Orihime repeats herself.

Last night, after their escapade, she'd healed a wound in his stomach, yet he wouldn't let her heal his eye. She wonders, today, if it is some sort of self-punishment. It's obvious, at least to her it is, how much loyalty he holds for Aizen. She understands it, because it's, in a way, about the same loyalty she holds towards her friends. Maybe that's why she feels she can connect with him better than the rest of the Espada.

"It's fine," he answers, so quickly she barely hears it.

She wonders what's wrong with him today. He seems distraught, if such a word can be related to Ulquiorra. He's been cold, indifferent, apathetic, distant, uncomfortable and many more negative adjectives, around her. But this is the first time she notices him lost. Like he's in a wide field, looking for a pin. His face doesn't show it, of course, but Orihime thinks she knows him well enough to realise it.

She doesn't ask anything about it, though. After all, he wouldn't answer, right? Of course not. Sometimes, she also thinks her questions bother him. So today, she won't ask him more questions. Today she will eat, be silent, and leave him be. After all, she owes him this, for the trip to that wide meadow. And because Orihime doesn't like owing people, she nods fiercely to herself, and sits on her bed, the plate with her.

Today, she will eat without protesting. She props her back against the backboard, and scuffles her socks off, not wanting to be rude, at least. Wiggling her toes slightly, she tilts her head and wonders if she could maybe paint her nails one day. A emerald green colour, maybe. She turns to voice this thought—honestly, it will be the last thing she tells him today, she promises herself—only to find that Ulquiorra's eyes aren't on her face, as they usually are when he _feels_ she's going to ask a question. They're set, rather, on her now naked feet.

Or at least that's what she thinks.

_Maybe he hasn't seen feet? Maybe Espadas don't really have feet? I've never sent them without the shoes on, so who knows, right?_

Ulquiorra is apparently interested in her toes. Or is it her ankles?

Experimentally, she wiggles her toes again, and notices his eyes widen minimally. A fly would've missed the movement, but not Orihime.

_So, it's the toes._

Still, she moves the soles of her feet, rubbing them together at the ankles, while looking for a reaction. She gets one, of course, just not the one she expected.

"I'll return when you're done," he says, stiffly, and just as stiffly, he leaves the room.

Orihime leans back against the board, and looks at her plate. She picks up a roll of sushi, and puts it in her mouth, letting it rest on her tongue for a moment. Because right then, her mind is on something else.

_It's the ankles. Definitely my ankles._

With a shake of her head, she decides that later, she'll ask him if he has feet. After all, she's too curious to stay quiet forever. As she chews her food, she thinks about two things. One, that she can't figure out what about her ankles could possibly bother him. And two, that the rice needs more salt.


	7. arc 2: ii tiny holes in the system

**A/N:** Writing this chapter has fried my brain for two reasons. First, the first part was fun to write, because I do so love mixing dark themes with Orihime's kooky mind. And second, after writing the last part…I'm in need of new underwear. (I shouldn't admit this over the internet.)  
Also known as the chapter where Orihime gets new CLOTHES! Arrankar clothes, btw. That pretty, white, princess-y dress-coat Aizen probably designed in his genius time. Oh, if anyone wonders where Aizen is, don't worry! They'll all come into play. Trust me. For now, this is all about the love-doves. P.S. For the people on Fanfiction dot net, you're probably asking yourselves why the hell I've updated twice in one day? Well, I've got this fic hosted on my journal, too, and there? It's way ahead. Like, near the 3rd arc ahead. So I'm trying to speed things up by updating it here, also, until the story catches up with its status on eljay. There you go. If that makes no sense, I'm updating more, because I feel like it. Hah!

* * *

**in need of a dictionary**  
_ii. tiny holes in the system_

* * *

It's the fourth day in the year of the moon-flower-on-top-of-the-white-hill.

Orihime has decided so, since during these last days—weeks? Months?—she's been trying to figure out the exact amount of time she's been trapped in Hueco Mundo. Ulquiorra doesn't seem to be affected by time, and she reckons he probably doesn't really care about time—what's time, when you have to play spy, or to kill people, after all—so why bother ask him again? He'll only stare at her impassively some more, his eyes will widen a bit, and then he'll tail out of her room before she'll do something to burn him. It's not that she does it on purpose. Or that she _can_ burn him.

(Some days, she looks at him and wonders how much it would take to get his face to crumble under some other type of expression.)

During her visits to Aizen's rooms, she spends as much time as she can asking the god-aspirant insignificant questions about insignificant things, and avoiding to answer any questions of his. Aizen thinks—she hopes—that she acts like this because she's mad. She was a bit nutty before being kidnapped, so now she's even worse. The girl will pull through, Aizen will say.

On those days is when Orihime takes a secret pride in how good her acting skills are.

If they expect her to act insane, then why disappoint them? It's just her repayment for their hospitality. Not that their hospitality isn't good. She has a large bed, she's given food, and aside from her stoic mannequin-esque guard, she's hardly ever bothered by the rest of them. Then again, she could use some more heat in her room.

It's the fourth day in the year of the moon-flower-on-top-of-the-white-hill, as Orihime has declared it, and her clothes—her school uniform—are starting to stink. Not to mention that her feet are cold.

So Orihime spends this particular day in her large bed, feet buried in the covers—which for some reasons are still cold, no matter how many she piles on top of them. She knows by the churning in her belly that it's almost lunch-time, which means soon, Ulquiorra will come visit her. Or rather, stay and make sure she eats. Not that there's any need for him anymore. Orihime learned how hunger takes its toll during the first three days when she threw all her food out the small window. And she also learned how being spoon-fed, forcefully, by any type of Arrankars isn't fun. It's like they're fattening the pig for the future massacre. But then again, that was before Ulquiorra—

"Are you awake?" comes his voice, so familiar that she's more used to hearing it than hearing Kurosaki-kun's voice—how did Kurosaki-kun's voice sound? She's forgotten.

"Orihime." The voice again. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, and focuses her eyes on Ulquiorra.

"I'm up," she answers, her gaze locked on the white bundles he carries.

A moment later, he throws the bundles at her face with a specific order to, "Follow me."

She follows, amazed that she's being let out of her cage, her room, her prison. On the hallway, on the road to wherever he's taking her, she sees strange forms, tall and dark and spooky to her eye, but only at first. Because Ulquiorra reaches for her hand, to tug her forward with impatience, since she's human and _too damn slow_, and suddenly the shadows all turn into humanoids, Arrankar, Hollows, shapes that she's not scared of. Not anymore.

"Where are we going?" she asks, since she's Orihime, curious by nature.

"Bath," he answers, since he's Ulquiorra, curt and cold by nature.

Orihime speaks no more until they reach their destination and he pushes her into a steamy room, his hand on her lower back, the shove isn't forced although it isn't gentle either. She doesn't know, then, if she should make something new of all this touching Ulquiorra is doing. Before, he wouldn't so much as poke her to wake up, and now he has at least one finger on her body all the time, as if she's the puppet, he's the puppeteer and she's being guided with help of his strings. Then again, this must be the strangest thing, since it's the puppet who pulls the strings on the puppeteer, with her smiles and her ankles.

Not that she knows of this.

An hour later, she emerges from the steamy room, clean and tucked inside the white bundles—which turned out to be clothes. Loose pants and some sort of top, that all together make her look like a princess. She's not sure she likes the pun, or being a damsel in distress anymore, but the clothes are warm, so for now, they'll do.

"You look better than I expected," he says, so sudden it surprises both of them.

Orihime blinks, pushing away moist hair from her temples, tucks it behind her ear, and blushes slightly. "Thank you…?" she says, her voice unsure.

He doesn't move for a moment, then grabs her hand and guides her back to her room. The air, once warm when they were back there, near the bathrooms, turns almost cold when they're inside her room. The tension is too much for Orihime to deal with, so she looks for anything to distract herself with.

"Oh, look! They brought the food when I was away," she quips, heading towards her table, where another bowl of unsalted rice awaits. "Do you think they'll ever give me something else than rice?"

Before she can pick the bowl in her hands, he's got them in his grip, and twirls her around. A second later, she's pinned to the wall, her arms above her head, looking like a lost deer. And he looks like the predator who doesn't know if he should kill her, or let her be free.

"Ulquiorra-san…" she starts, her voice but a mere whisper. "Did I say something wrong? What are you doi—"

"Quiet," he orders, his voice too low. He's not looking in her eyes, but at a spot below her chin, and it's that detail that confuses her a lot. Then he's leaning in until his nose brushes over the skin on her neck. He exhales, and the wisp of his breath against her warm skin makes her tremble slightly. He pulls away again, this time to lean in till his nose is touching her nose, green eyes searching for something. For an answer she doesn't have. An answer she's not ready—and maybe not willing—to give.

With almost a deadly condemn to her own health, Orihime licks her dry lips quickly. His eyes snap to her mouth, following every move. Her lips are parted, and she wonders _will he kiss me?_ Ulquiorra tilts his head, moving closer, his mouth a hair's breath away from hers. He exhales again, and she vaguely tastes something like mint and rain and copper on her tongue. His hold on her hands loosens just a bit, and Orihime thinks _this is it_. One of his hands trails down, not touching but creating a shift in the air, which makes it feel like a touch—too gentle for him, perhaps—on her skin. The hand rests on the buttons of her dress, unbuttoning one and causing her eyes to widen in panic. She's definitely not ready for _this_.

Soon, the top is unbuttoned down to her collarbone, and his breathing is slightly more erratic against her lips—or maybe it's hers. He spreads the lapels of the top wide, leaving her neck and collarbone bare. And then, with infinitely slow movements, Ulquiorra pulls his mouth away from the vicinity of her own, and leans down. She wants to make a question, but everything dies in the throat, because his lips are suddenly _there_. On her bare throat. On the exact spot where neck meets clavicles, there where her skin dips low just a bit. His mouth, strange enough, is warm.

No.

His mouth is like a volcano.

And his tongue is even worse, she decides, when he licks her skin just slightly. She's tilting her head back now, thinking _I need more of this._ The hand that was holding her arms above her head is now near her waist, now on her hipbone, now pulling her closer, now pressing her against the wall, undecided. His lips are parted over her skin, and suddenly he's suckling on that skin, teeth digging into her collarbone as he carries on.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…_

Perhaps, she isn't sure yet, she moans. Perhaps she moans, or mewls, or whimpers slightly, or grips his shoulder and his hair. Perhaps she even whispers his name. Perhaps she doesn't. Maybe she just stands still as a statue, while he continues to suckle her skin into his mouth.

But who can stay quiet under those lips?

So Orihime _does_ moan, and whimper. And Ulquiorra spends a whole five minutes pulling, nibbling and delivering sweet torture to her neck. Then he releases the skin, lapping at it, to soothe it. That makes her let out an incoherent sound, and twist her fingers in his hair. Ulquiorra presses his lips against her neck, like a kiss, maybe, and pulls away. She's flushed, dishevelled, her lips are parted, her cheeks are red, and on her neck lays his mark. Now, it's red, like a volcano. Soon, it'll be black, like something else. Something Orihime can't comprehend, but something that holds a certain promise.

He doesn't kiss her, like she might have expected.

It's just as good, she doubts he'd have stopped at that kiss. She's strangely content, though. She's seen a side of Ulquiorra that isn't like a cold statue. She knows of the raging fire he's got underneath those crusts of marble. Her lips mime a shy smile, and the hand in his hair retires, trailing over the side of his neck, and stopping at the hole there. Her eyes widen, in a sudden realisation.

_That's the same spot where he marked me…_

She brushes one finger over the lower edge of that circle, wanting to ask _why_. But his hand snakes around her wrist almost painfully, tugging it away.

"Don't," he orders. And with a talent only Ulquiorra possesses, he turns around and leaves the room, in the blink of an eye.

Orihime slides to the floor, her legs shaking, her hand trembling as she lets it hover over her neck. She lets one finger brush the sensitive skin he's marked, and the whimper she lets out is even stronger now. She's seen his fire. She's moaned under it. But is she ready?

_What is this turning into?_

* * *

**A/N:** As per chapter 277, Grimmjaw states that Ulquiorra marks everything he finds interesting by blowing a hole in their neck, exactly where his own is. In this chapter he's done the same, only without killing Orihime first. If you look deep, you'll realise that it means he cares. Love is in the aiiiir.** Another** P.S. for the fanfiction readers. Don't try to read the following chapter on eljay. It's friends locked due to the bold-through tactics LJ and 6apart have taken. Yeah...it's gonna be heavily M-rated. So just wait for it here, patiently. You'll get your thing. 


	8. arc 2: iii map of your body

**A/N:** NOT WORKSAFE CHAPTER. This contains sex. A whole three pages' worth of sex. And bring your other pair of underwear too, just in case. I know I lost mine. Twice.  
And you people thought you wouldn't get to see what happened to Noitorra. Well. You were wrong! Also, don't you just _wish_ you'd know what Ulquiorra was thinking? Well, keep on wishing. Mwahahaha, I have to stop being evil. Read on, kiddies. 

**

* * *

in need of a dictionary**  
_iii. map of your body_

* * *

It's morning—or maybe it's night—when she's pulled away from her slumber with a shake of her shoulder.

Orihime rolls around in her bed, blinking to help clear her sight before settling it on her awakener. It's a woman. And she looks familiar, only she doesn't. Not really. But Orihime feels like she's known her, or met her somewhere before. Maybe in Aizen's 'lounge'. Or as Orihime calls it, the 'minion hall'.

"Dress and follow," the woman orders, her voice low and rough. Orihime knows better than to disobey, so with uttermost care to not let the intruder see her fresh hickey—she doesn't think that mark would be taken nicely by anyone—she buttons up her coat, straightens her hair a bit, and pulls on her boots.

The woman nods, somewhat appreciative of Orihime's speed in obeying her, then turns around and leads the way to wherever it is that Orihime must go to.

It's amazing how much this reminds Orihime of Ulquiorra. At the beginning, when all he did was give one or two orders, and wait for her to obey. When he'd walk two steps in front of her, knowing she wouldn't dare escape—and if she did, knowing she wouldn't live past the first four steps. Only a few hours have passed since he's marked her, and the knot in her stomach is still strong. Orihime wishes she'd have had butterflies there, but all she can feel is how her insides churn and weep, because her outside cannot afford it.

"Enter," the woman orders, holding open a large door.

Orihime nods, and enters the 'minion room', choking a bit as the waves of powerful reiatsu swipe over her form. Two, powerful and different, lighter in a way, come from the two allies at Aizen's sides. One, immensely powerful and terrifying, comes from Aizen himself. Orihime remember all those 'tea times' when she'd used to think she'd die from his presence only—but that had been at first, when she was still a lamb, and when the nicer wolf hadn't been nice. Nine other waves of reiatsu, all from powerful Arrankars—Espada—wash over her, and Orihime notices two things: one, that Ulquiorra is not there, and two, that one reiatsu is dim.

She steps further inside the room, and her eyes fall on a figure, slumped on the ground. She has to contain her shriek of horror, and even with her hands pressed against her mouth, a little bit still comes out.

"Orihime-san," Aizen calls, calmly from his white throne. "Thank you for joining us on such a short notice."

She stands still, frozen like a statue. Stares at the red tainting all that white marble—or whatever rock covers the floors—watching how it seeps through the tiny holes in small rivers. Rivers of blood.

"As you can see, we need your help today," Aizen explains, smiling like a comprehensive father. "Noitorra-san," he continues, hand pointing towards the maimed body on the floor, "Was sent on a recognition mission to Earth. He was being very late, and I sent someone there to fetch him. However, that someone brought him home like this."

By now, Orihime is standing nearer the body, eyes wide in horror, the taste of bile in her throat.

"Ah, Ulquiorra," Aizen says, and Orihime's head snapps up, searching for him amongst the crowd. "Welcome back."

There he is, silent and avoiding any sort of contact with her. He is looking at Aizen, impassive, unmoved, stone-cold. Like a statue. Orihime's eyes pause over his left arm, where red taints the white. Blood. Her breath hitches, and in that exact moment his eyes moved quickly, locking his gaze with hers. The unspoken word weights in the air, and she can _feel_ it, hear it, in her ears.

_Don't._

A subtle nod, and Orihime turns away, in time to hear Aizen continue his speech.

"I am curious to hear from Noitorra-san what creature managed to cause so many injuries in one of my most capable Espada. So if you please, Orihime-san," Aizen wavs towards the body in a hint that was also an order. "Please heal him for us."

Orihime nods, mutely, and steps closer to the body. She has to kneel down to reach him better, her new clothes now soaking with blood. She feels a reiatsu shift in the room, slightly and barely noticeable. But to her, who's been near him enough, she knows who it is. She stops herself from looking over where he is, swallowing thickly with her suspicion. As she poses her hands above the injured body, and invokes her shield, as she watches it heal, as she observes and feels all the wounds closing, the muscles shifting back, the blood fading away, Orihime feels like crying. Because deep down, somewhere in her subconscious, she has a nagging feeling that she knows who has done this to Noitorra. And he's standing in the same room, calm and collected, as if all he's done was to retrieve a companion from another land. Soon, when the healing will be completed, this patient of hers would tell everything.

And then her guardian, her resolution, her only thread of colour in this monochromatic place, would be gone.

Noitorra wakes up, his slanted eyes staring into Orihime's. She can still feel his taunting hands over her body, in some places. She can still feel the need to shudder, and she wishes she hadn't healed him.

"Noitorra-san, when you're feeling better," Aizen interrupts from his place above them all. "I wish to know who did this to you." The look in Aizen's eyes is that of satisfaction as he lets them slide over Orihime's retiring powers. He resembles a merchant that knows he's made a good bargain.

Orihime feels like throwing up.

Noitorra stands, tall and proud. There is one moment, with Orihime caught in the middle, where his reiatsu flares. He's locked gaze with Ulquiorra, and the shorter Espada stares impassively. Or so it seems. But Orihime almost chokes again as his reiatsu grows like a small blaze. The moment lasts for about two seconds.

"Hn," Noitorra says, one last significant look towards Ulquiorra, then turns to his master. "Ambush, Aizen-sama. Bunch of Shinigami, some Captains. They got lucky," he explained.

"I see. You'll have to detail this to me. But first, Ulquiorra, escort our guest back to her room. And have her heal your arm."

"Yes, Aizen-sama," Ulquiorra answers, and looks at Orihime. _Follow me and shut up._

Orihime follows, staying quiet until they're in her room. She's shivering slightly, and not sure she can face this right now, but still. She turns around, watching as Ulquiorra turns to exit her room in silence. The whole thing, repeating, again and again, and she's so, _so damn sick_ of watching his back as he leaves.

"Ulquiorra," she speaks, watching helplessly as he doesn't pause. "Please, wait." And yet he still continues, now at the door, now opening it, now outside of her room. "You did it," she whispers, as he's pulling the door behind him.

"Hn," comes the answer. The door remains half-closed, and he isn't looking at her.

"You did that to Noitorra-san…didn't you, Ulquiorra?" she tries again, her voice still a whisper.

"Part of it." He's back inside her room now, because the walls outside have ears, and he can't afford being caught.

"Which part?" she asks, gaze locked with his.

Ulquiorra stares at her, still and quiet for a long time. Then he's in her face, close, too close, and she curses his inhuman speed. "All of it," he murmurs, leaning down. His nose brushes against her cheek, up to her ear, down her neck, where he lets his breath fan over the skin. "All of it."

"W-w-why?" she asks, not knowing what to do, where to run, or hide, or how quickly to start kissing him.

Ulquiorra pulls away, and all his warmth turns to ice. "Because," is his only answer, and without another word, he leaves her room.

It's dark outside her window. It's always dark outside her window. Orihime buries herself under the covers, not even bothering to pull off her blood-stained pants. She's too tired, too drained, too _lost_ to care about anything other than making herself a cocoon. Now she's safe. Now she remembers.

_"What was Noitorra doing here?"_

_"He was left in charge, when you were away."_

_"Did he bother you in any way?"_

_"N-no. Just," she hesitates, and rubs her neck, then looks at him shyly. "Can I ask you something?"_

_"Hn."_

_"Will you…do you think you could…" Taking a deep breath, she tries again, "Please don't leave me again."_

The tears run down her cheeks now, and she nuzzles her pillow in an attempt to dry them off. She remembers now. How he'd been gone for a while, how Noitorra had come to guard her, how he'd leered, and tugged, and pulled. The relief she'd felt when he was gone, and Ulquiorra'd been back. She could've kissed him back then. She'd wanted to do it, too.

Orihime surfaces from under her covers timidly, looking at the high ceiling and wondering about the event of this day. These last days. What _is_ Ulquiorra doing? Was neutering Noitorra an order from Aizen? Was it on his own accord?

"Oh my god," Orihime gasps, standing up from her bed. "Oh my god, what if it wasn't? What if Aizen finds out, and kills him? What if—"

"Who are you talking to?" that blessed voice interrupts her again.

She twirls around, heart beating wild in her chest, as she runs towards him, wanting to bury herself in his arms, to hug him and pull him close. But she stops two feet away from him, brusquely. She can't. Not yet.

"No-one. Myself," she answers. There's another pause. He pushes the door closed behind him. "Why?" she asks again, eyes pleading.

"I was to teach him modals."

"Modals?"

"On how to treat a guest properly."

Orihime blushes, and hides her eyes from him. "Who made you do this?"

"Myself," he answers, then takes a step towards her. "It is strange," he says, looking confused in his own way. "I only take orders from Aizen-sama, and yet this time, I acted on my behalf. Why is that?"

"I…don't know," she answers, and she really doesn't know. "What if Aizen finds out?"

"He won't. Noitorra knows better," Ulquiorra answers, and it's suddenly clearer to Orihime just how much power the man in front of her possesses.

His former words register in her head, and she stands defiantly in front of him. "And do you know how to treat guests properly?" she asks.

Ulquiorra's lips twitch in what could have been a smile, and his hand moves to her neck. He brushes his thumb over the fabric under which his mark lays. She shivers, her eyes looking down.

"Let me heal your arm," Orihime says, pulling his hand slowly away from her neck. _Don't do this to me. Don't confuse me like this. Don't confuse yourself like this._

Moments later she's sitting on her bed, with him next to her as she heals his arm as quick as she can.

"Warm," he speaks, so soft she can barely hear it.

"What?" she asks.

"Your shield. It's warm," he explains, then stares at her for a while. Like he's trying to find some sort of answer. "What are you doing to me?"

"H-healing you," she answers, but knows that wasn't his question.

"I'm…I'm _feeling_…" he explains, leaning closer. "Emotions are for trash."

"That's a lie," Orihime spurts before she can help herself. "Emotions are for everyone. Even some Espada feel, regardless if it's anger or confusion, or…or whatever it is."

"Not me," he cuts in, peering closer at her face. "Do you know my name, Orihime?" he whispers.

"Ulquiorra."

"My entire name," he says, pulling away. His healed arm reaches for the zipper of his coat, and pulls it open. "Ulquiorra Schiffer, Cuarta Espada."

And there it is. The gothic looking imprint on his skin. Orihime feels out of breath, like she finally understands everything. Like everything is much more clear.

_Shi._ "Death," she whispers, her fingers hovering above the mark. "You were made to kill…"

"Garbage disposal," he answers, a bit of humour in his voice. "Something like that. Now, do you get it?"

She shakes her head. "It's not an excuse. It's not an excuse, okay? You're still allowed to feel, even if you're unadvised to do it. You can sti—"

"Do you know," he starts, pinning her into the bed, his body arched over hers. "Do you know how quickly I could kill you? How long it would take to do it?" he asks, and leans in slowly. "One second. Less."

"Then why—"

"My _orders_ are to not harm you. My orders…my orders are…" His lips brush the curve of her jaw. "No getting attached."

"Please don't leave," she mouths to the ceiling, since he can't hear her, or see her.

He pulls away, his eyes a hard green as they stare into hers. "Orihime. This is not attachment."

She nods, feeling how he needs it to be confirmed. "It's not." _For you._

He nods again, and with one move he tips the scales and destroys her world before giving it life again. He tastes like mint, and rain, and blood, and she doesn't mind. His lips are soft, full, and cool. Cool, but warm, especially as they move against hers. Her first kiss. _Finally._ Ages ago, she can't remember when, she'd hoped it would've been Ichigo's kiss. But what good is saving a kiss for a knight that doesn't notice you're saving it? Ulquiorra erases all trace of Ichigo from her mind, with one swipe of his tongue along the seam of her lips.

She parts her lips, allowing him inside. Her tongue strokes his, timidly, shyly, awkwardly. At least at first, they both are, but minutes later, once they've learned enough, once they know enough about how to kiss, it stops being awkward. It starts being _right._

Ulquiorra pulls his mouth away from hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. His long fingers unbutton her coat fully now, and he pulls one sleeve off her hand, his mouth trailing after it. His tongue licks above her pulse point, biting softly before moving towards her fingers. Orihime watches amazed, breathless and curious as he pulls her pointer finger into his warm mouth. He twirls his tongue around it, and she gasps. Not stopping until he's traced and mapped all her fingers with his tongue and teeth, he manages to arouse her with only those simple movements. He repeats the motions to her other hand, and by the end of it, she's shirtless, bare under him. Ulquiorra doesn't say any words of encouragement, or whisper and murmurs of praise. He doesn't need to.

All he doesn't say, he demonstrates it with his actions. Like the soft kiss he leaves on her breastbone, one that makes her want to moan and cry at the same time. Like how his fingers rub soft circles over her ribs, while his mouth maps the upper-side of her body, carefully avoiding the sore flesh where he's marked her before. She encourages him with her noises, her moans and gasp. Later, he's licking around the skin of her belly-button, twirling his tongue around the tiny dent in a way that makes her legs flail a bit on the bed, and her hands grip the sheets beneath her.

He unties her sash, throwing it behind him on the floor. It falls with a flutter, and Orihime thinks _there goes my last barrier_. He still hasn't so much as touched her breasts, though the rest of her torso is humid from his ministrations. She's surprised a bit, that he's avoided her biggest asset, but also glad in a way. They're too sensitive, she knows. Yet, then, Ulquiorra starts to do something that shows her other sensitive areas of her body she didn't know. He pulls off her pants, tossing them somewhere behind them, then her boots. One hand comes to rest under her left knee, lifting that leg up for his inspection. A moment later, he's licking and biting the skin around her ankles as she sighs and moans softly, her toes curling in pleasure. His next victim are her toes. Ulquiorra dedicates a full five minutes to each foot, exploring it in a way that leaves her molten on the bed.

He moves to her knees, leaving another mark on the inside of her left knee, lapping at it until it's not that striking a red; and leaves another mark on her right hipbone, making Orihime cry out his name brokenly.

"Please," she says, when she's too hot and bothered and on the edge but not really there yet. "Please, let me…let me…"

He hums softly, the spreads her legs, rubbing his thumb over the cloth of her panties. Orihime arches softly, coming back down with a whimper. In the back of her head, this feels both good and like the worse torture. Although the good wins over.

Then, his fingers hook under her panties, pulling them down, and she lets him, she even helps him, spreading her legs a bit further, so that at least she can receive the cold caress of air against her skin. Warm air replaces cold air, and then his mouth is covering her mound. That talented tongue, that deadly horrible tongue of his swipes a line from her entrance up to her clit, parting her lips as it goes. He pulls away slightly, pausing. "Bittersweet," he acknowledges. She has no time to ask what he's talking about, because his mouth works on her again. Licking around all the nervous terminations down there, sucking at her entrance for more of her juices, lapping them up like a hungry man, like it's ambrosia. She arches and moans, crying out his name until her throat is raw. He suckles on her clit, pulling the little nub between his teeth, tongue around it, over it, again and again.

"Please…please, let me…oh gods…Ulquiorra…_please_," she cries, head rolling from side to side.

He inserts one finger into her, then the second, rolling them around, probing her walls, waiting for reactions. Then he hits one spot, and she screams out. Getting the hint, he continues, rubbing his digits against that spot, tongue flickering over her clit, repeatedly, continuously, until her back arches up with a snap, and she goes still.

Then, her legs clamp around his head, and she shakes with a loud "Oh _GOD_." He cleans it all up with his apt tongue, the pulls away and up, observing her.

"Thank you…" she says, at loss for what else to say, but wanting to say _something_. He doesn't answer, instead reaching to undress, but she moves her hand, grabbing his wrist and tugging him down towards her. "Let me," she murmurs, and pulls one finger in her mouth, doing the same he's done to her. She tastes herself on his fingers, and also his skin, and the combination undoes her in a way.

Rolling them until he's laying on his back, she straddles his thighs, and with her slightly-shaking hands, pulls off his shirt. Leaning down, she presses a kiss against the 4 above his heart.

"Death rules your heart," she whispers to the room. Then she sucks on the skin above it, biting and nibbling like he did to her. Marking him. Eye for an eye. She looks up in his eyes once it's done, letting him hear the message. _Now I rule there, too._ His eyes are glazed over, lips parted. He looks more distressed that she's ever, _ever_ seen, or thought, him capable of.

Leaning in again, she brushes her fingers over the edge of his hole, her mouth working on the juncture of neck and shoulder. His breathing pattern changes notably. Orihime then licks the edge of his Arrankar hole, tilting her head so she can bite at the skin on the lower edge. His reiatsu flares, then envelops her, surrounds her and presses her down.

"Stop," he says, voice a bit strangled and unsure. Orihime listens anyway, and pulls away, deciding she'll do that again soon. A moment later, she disposes of his pants, and slides down the bed until she's at his feet. _Arrankars do have feet_, she notices, before kissing one ankle. A groan comes from up above, and Orihime continues. Eye for an eye, she carries on until she's covered up both his feet, and he's let out a few more restrained groans.

Her curious hands trail over his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, to his hips. She giggles slightly, "Fundoshi…how…cute," she says, before untying that fabric, quickly but not quick enough. Then, it's gone. They're both naked. Naked, and aroused. She bites her lip, fingers fluttering over his balls, one finger trailing the more swollen vein up to the tip of his erection. She rubs the head experimentally with the pad of her finger, and he produces a noise that's something like a moan. She likes it. Likes the power, likes the look. Leaning down, she swipes her tongue over the tip, and pauses. Likes the taste, too.

But before she can explore anymore, she's on her back, with him above her, his length pressing against her thigh. "Enough," he orders, strained.

In a lust-filled haze, Orihime bumps her hips against his. "More," she asks.

He uses one hand to rub her clit in a lazy way again, before positioning himself at her tight entrance. One push.

_Ohgods._

And he's inside. Warm. Large. _So good._ He waits a few moments, hooking one arm under her left knee, bending it. Then he moves. Slowly, very slowly, as slow and long as the moans she's letting out. Finally, he pays attention to her breasts. As is usual of him, every detail is important. When he shifts like so, he bites the side of her breast. When he thrusts a bit harder, he licks her nipple. When he pulls out slowly, he bites on the nipple. Everything in balance, everything in equilibrium. Until it's not.

Until, after who knows how much time, his pace is losing rhythm, his breath is erratic, and her mouth lets out moans, and words of "more" and "please" and "Ulquiorra". Then, he moves faster, face buried in her shoulder, one hand under her knee, and the other under one breast. Orihime arches, her toes curling, her breath coming out in desperate pants. He thrusts into her hard, fast, more more _moremoremoremoreyesss_, until he's almost there, and she's almost there, and they're almost there.

And then, they're there.

Orihime comes first, because Ulquiorra uses that specific moment to bite the mark he left on her neck, again. And that's her undoing. She shudders, and whimpers, and sobs in her violent release. Her inner walls clamp around him, pulling him in, and with two or three more thrusts, he follows her.

When they've recovered, laying both on the rumpled sheets, Orihime thinks _So that is sex._ She falls asleep quickly after.

Later, when she wakes up, he's gone. It's alright, because she didn't expect him to stay, either.

_This is not attachment._

His words ringing in her ears, Orihime turns over in her bed. His smell is on her sheets, and that, only that, makes it all a little better.

* * *

**A/N:** 9 pages of Word, all for this baby. Please place your complaints about owe-me-undies here. :D Also, fundoshi is a type of Japanese underwear-binding, if you're curious, check it out in Wiki. Because not ALL Arrankars go comando! XD 


	9. arc 2: iv blind leading the blind

**A/N:** Short little bastard of a chapter. Consider this a 'filler' of sorts. Yeah, this story has about…till you see 5.5 up there, to go. Until then, keep reading and expecting! Sorry about the delay, life has been hectic, muses have been low, and morning afters are ALWAYS hard to write. Hopefully, from the next chapter, things will spice up! If I ever take long to write, you'll know why. We are but humus. I mean…humans. Don't worry, the sex won't be over yet. And no, no UlquiHime babies (yet). Also, much sorries to those on ff-dot-net, for taking so long to update. I usually post the chapter in my journal first,and then forget all about the Pit. Whoops? So two chapters in a row tonight.

* * *

**in need of a dictionary**  
_[iv. blind leading the blind_

* * *

When Orihime was a young girl, she used to listen to the ladies in a restaurant giggle and talk about their love lives. Orihime would spend more than an hour eating a small cookie, listening in on talks about love, and courting, and sex, and imagining her own. Of course, she'd never imagine the part about sex, Orihime's mind never quite grasped it beyond kissing. But there was something she remembered, right at that moment.

The morning after, they say, is never easy.

For Orihime, however, the morning after doesn't exist, not really. First, because she still doesn't know if she slept with Ulquiorra during the night, or during the day, and second, because in some cultures, the so-called morning after implies either snuggles and caresses, a repeat of the night before, _or_ regret.

Orihime wakes up to a slightly cold bed, so there are no snuggles or caresses. None farther than her burying her nose in the pillows, smelling his essence all over them, and shivering. There is no repeat of the night before, simply because he's not there. And as for regret…

Maybe, if she had been different. Maybe, if this had happened previously. Maybe then she would have regretted it. But now, after days—weeks, months, how much time, really—of knowing him, being near him, learning to appreciate his presence, to draw warmth from his eyes, to feel safe under his protection, she feels no regrets. Maybe another Orihime would cry over the fact that she will never give herself to Ichigo first. But that is in another universe. This Orihime feels secure, she feels a bit sad, a bit alone, and a bit cold, but there are no regrets.

The tears she spills on her pillows are just regrets over not having any regrets.

------

It's a full three days before she sees Ulquiorra again. Three days of something gripping her heart, _something_ making her get no rest, _something_ pulling and turning and tugging at her insides, at her courage, her optimism, and her sanity.

She spends those days in her room, looking out the window and wondering where the hell her innocence has gone, even though she knows who took it. She plays with her food—delivered by an unknown Arrankar—for a while, then puts it near the window as well. She barely sleeps at night—the sheets have stopped smelling of him, and it pains her so. She's restless, impossibly stubborn, and asks every Arrankar if they have seen Ulquiorra.

By the fourth day she's ready to escape just so he can appear beside her and take her back.

She doesn't need to. On the fourth day, near lunch time, he enters her room, and her heart skips a beat. Maybe two. She wants to laugh, jump into his arms, ask him to kiss her again with that scorching heat he's got trapped inside him. He has other ideas.

"You're not eating, they have told me," Ulquiorra speaks. His great first lines, after everything that had happened before.

"The food needs more salt," Orihime murmurs, looking at him from under her lashes. "I've—"

"Quiet," he says. "I have warned you, woman. If you don't eat, I'll tie you down and force you to do it."

Then, he's near her, and her senses are invaded by everything that is him. He's terrifying, right in that moment. His reiatsu is dull, but his eyes are hard. Cold. _What happened? Why are you like this?_ she wants to ask, but cannot. It takes two blinks of an eye, and Orihime finds herself strapped to her bed, her arms above her head.

"What are you—"

"Quiet," he orders again. Taking her plate, he picks up a spoon full of soup, and presses it at her mouth. "Eat."

She eats. For the last days, she hasn't eaten, but today, with him near her, however dangerous he may be, she eats. They go through the soup without a word, although her eyes keep trying to find his. When she's finished the soup, he closes his eyes, and lets out a breath.

"I can't stop myself from wanting you again, and I don't understand it," he whispers.

Her heart drops from her chest, and she feels herself short of breath.

"I've tried to avoid you," he starts, picking up a bit of rice in between his fingers. "But you keep drawing me back in." He places the food against her lips, and she opens her mouth, taking it in, nibbling on his fingers, licking them clean and making him hiss softly. "Don't," he speaks, with some sort of urgency. "Don't make me…"

"I'm not," she says. "No-one is forcing you to feel, Ulquiorra. It's not my fault if you can feel. And you should feel…it's not that bad." They've had this talk before, but he's still stubborn.

"You don't get it," he says, not opening his eyes. "Everything that I see in this room, I must show it to Aizen-sama. Everything. And if he sees what we have done."

_Is that why you won't open your eyes?_ "I'll be your eyes," she whispers, so softly he barely hears it.

But the fact is that he does hear it, and then he's leaning in, mouth blindly searching hers. She leans up, restrained as she is, whimpering when their mouths crash together. The first kiss had been a volcano. This one is a hurricane. She wonders idly if there will ever be a calm way of kissing for them. If the need or the secrecy will ever disappear.

His lips work wonders, his kisses get more urgent, and soon she's naked again, guiding him with her words. He never once opens his eyes. She forgets all about calmness.

------

Days pass. Nights pass. Ulquiorra doesn't avoid her anymore, and Orihime can breathe with regularity again. He's her guardian once more, though of whom and from whom he's guarding her, they're not sure.

In between visits, they talk. More than before, since both realise that the situation has changed. They've crossed the line of enemy and prisoner. They cross it each night, and while Ulquiorra is never there in the morning, her sheets now smell constantly like him. What saddens her is the fact that he never opens his eyes when he's touching her, when he's fucking her, kissing her, or even caressing her. It's his way of erasing those details from his mind, though he tells her one night that her words he will always remember. She's his guiding eyes in these intimate moments. He trusts her not to guide him towards destruction, and though Orihime wouldn't harm a fly, she manages to cripple him. Ulquiorra begins to _feel_.

------

"You know," she says, looking up at him. "It's not that difficult, is it? To grow used to this?" She has her head in his lap, and his fingers in her hair, and for once they are both clothed. It's like a miracle. Only it's not.

"Hmm," he says, fingers brushing her cheekbone. "I should be able to do it, though."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's a bit discriminatory, don't you? The whole being the fourth Espanda, and therefore not being allowed to feel? I mean, you can feel, of course you can…no-one ever stops people from feeling. Does that makes sense?"

"Hm."

"But what I mean is…what I mean is, I think I have grown used to Ulquiorra's presence so much, that it would be hard to not have it near me anymore. What I want to say is that…I don't want you to ignore me. Or avoid me, really. If you want…you can hate me…or you could not speak, or…I don't know….but please. Please don't stop coming here?"

In life, certain people cling to certain things. Constants, they call it. Orihime finds herself desperately needing Ulquiorra to be one of those constants. His voice, his eyes, his smell, the way he combs her hair like that, the feel of him around her, the warmth, the—

_Love?_

—sensations he manages to cause in her. She slowly finds herself falling asleep, her head in his lap like that. Orihime will never hear his answer to her plead—

"I won't."

—and Ulquiorra will never explain what exactly it is that he won't do. 


	10. arc 2: v a 1000 masks to cover you

**A/N:** OH, SHE UPDATES, FINALLY! And so, we reach the end of second arc, before I take my month-long hiatus from fiction. I'll need this, especially considering how fast-paced the third arc will be. So, about this chapter. You have Orihime's curiosity, and cameos from many Espadas. I know it's short in terms of word count, but it was planned this way. A realization not with actions, but with words. I'm afraid you'll find a lot of variety in the writing styles I'll use in this story, because that's just how I am, and because they do fit. Occasionally. Enjoy. Arc 3 will hopefully begin soon.

* * *

**in need of a dictionary**  
_[v. a thousand masks to cover you_

* * *

o1.

"Do Arrankar have hearts, Halibel-sama?"

"We do not need hearts."

"Why not?"

"Hearts are used by humans, such as you, to live. They pump blood, they move every bit of life inside you. To us, it is useless."

"But you _do_ bleed, I've seen it."

"Perhaps. Perhaps we have organs, small as they are, but we could do without them, just like we can do without breathing."

"So you don't need hearts?"

"No."

"And you don't think you have them?"

"I've already answered this."

"Then how do Arrankar love?"

"We don't."

o2.

"Yami-san, do Arrankar feel fear?"

"Hell no, we don't. We execute orders, eliminate piuny humans like our creator ask of us."

"Then you don't fear anyone?"

"There's no insect among you humans worth fearing."

"What about Aizen-sama?"

"We fear him, alright."

"Why?"

"Why? Cause he can fuckin' kill us, idiot. Why'd you think? Tch."

o3.

"Zaera Pollo-san, do Arrankar feel curiosity?"

"Only a few of us do. I for example, have been programmed to research everything that comes into this world, and figure out how to terminate them."

"You move based on your curiosity, then?"

"Of sorts. I move on instinct. My job and my rank are what they are, and I must meet all the goals I have set myself."

"If you had a choice, though, would you do this? Or would you research something different?"

"I always wondered about how the human body functions on the inside. That many will to fight, to survive and live, when it's clear to me that they are inferior, and should, as such, behave as flies."

"So does that mean you're curious about the human anatomy?"

"It means I want to open you up and see how you function, little human woman."

o4.

"Grimmjow-san, do Arrankar feel ambition?"

"The fuck's this all about, girl?"

"I'm researching."

"What for?"

"Myself. Do they feel ambition?"

"…yeah, we feel ambition. The moment we decide to split from the Menos, become individuals on our own, we're moved by that ambition. If it ain't strong enough, we die, or get eaten."

"But can ambition make you survive?"

"If it's strong enough."

"And would you do anything, anything at all, to reach your goals?"

"'s what ambition's all about, ain't it?"

o5.

"Ulquiorra, do Arrankar _feel_?"

"No."

"But that's a lie. I asked Halibel-sama if you have a heart, and she said you might, which means you can feel pain and pleasure. I asked Yami-san if you feel fear, and he said you do fear Aizen-sama, but you are also loyal to him. I asked Zaera Pollo-san if you feel curiosity, and he said you do, which means you're also willing to change things, and learn things. And I asked Grimmjow-san if you have ambition, and he said you do have it, which means you can feel the need to get better. So you see, Arrankar _can_ feel, and it's a wide range of emotions, too."

"Your point?"

"Ulquiorra, can Arrankar feel love?"

"…"

"Ulqui—"

"No."

"Who? The Arrankar?...Or just you?"

o6.

"I think I've been here for a month, or maybe more. What do you think, Wonderwyce-kun?"

"Aah."

"Yeah, I thought so to. It's been strange, I mean I should feel afraid, but I can't. I have Ulquiorra to protect me, or guard me, but he's really protecting me, you know?"

"Aah."

"I've been thinking lately. About feelings. You feel joy, don't you, Wonderwyce-kun? You can feel something, too? Just like all Arrankar can feel. So that means that Ulquiorra can feel too, eventually."

"Haahh?"

"I've been thinking about feelings a lot, I guess. And I asked around, and I realized that Ulquiorra's very good at lying, don't you think? He thinks he has no heart, but I've seen him bleed, and I've caused him pain and pleasure. I've seen his loyalty, but not his fear, which is okay, because it means he has courage. I know he's curious, because if he weren't, he wouldn't come to me each day or night. I know he thinks he can't feel, but it's like he's trying to go against it without going against it, because when he touches me, his touch is soft, even if he doesn't look. As for the love…what do you think, Wonderwyce? Can Arrankar love?"

"…muhh?"

"I guess you're right. But you know, I've been thinking about that one, too. What if they _can_, but just don't find anyone appropriate to love? What if they mistake the feeling for another, like possessiveness, or protectiveness? Like Zaera Pollo-san mistakes his madness for scientific curiosity? That means they just need to realise it, eventually. And you know what, Wonderwyce-kun? I've been thinking of my feelings, too, lately. And I think I'm almost sure I love Ulquiorra, in some way or another. I might be mistaking it for lust, or the safety I feel in his arms, but if I think of it, that's how I feel about a lot of my friends. Minus the lust part, you know? So maybe I do love him in a way. I thought my heart would always stay true to Kurosaki-kun, but here's one person who can make me change my mind. See? Humans can also feel the need to change. And we can also be patient. So if I have to wait forever, until Ulquiorra realises he can feel, I will. What do you think?"

"Naaarhh…"

"You're right. This cake _definitely_ needs more sugar topping. 


End file.
